


Layers of Truth and Fiction

by CavannaRose, MelyssaShadows



Category: Jack the Ripper - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Chest Binding, Gen, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, Spiritualism, Spiritualists, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian England, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21715147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyssaShadows/pseuds/MelyssaShadows
Summary: England is in the grips of the Jack the Ripper case, but an unlikely alliance between a spiritualist that was more than she seemed, and a detective desperate to live up to the ideals set by such figures as Sherlock Holmes, thought that there might be a paranormal explanation to the killings.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

A brutal snowstorm had kept most of London locked inside their homes for the last two weeks, but now the snow had finally slowed. All that remained were a few soft flakes, gently falling from the overcast sky. The sounds of spades grinding against hardened earth and cobblestone could be heard against the backdrop of the Town Crier calling out the news to the few people trying to get on with their days. The worst of the storm had passed, and life could resume once more. 

In one corner of the city, what appeared to be a long-haired man stood alone in a barren room, the thin mattress behind him holding a nearly macabre outline of a body from use long beyond it's intended durability. A pair of old but serviceable shoes neatly lined up next to one another at the foot of the bed. He released his heavy, dark hair from the queue that held it back so that his locks hung over his face, obscuring his features though there was no one there to note them. He crossed floorboards so worn that the wood was a faint grey rather than the burnished brown of the single, ornate chest that sat alone in the corner. Ink stained fingers, the skin far darker than was fashionable, traced the elaborate geometric shapes that had been lovingly carved into the chest. They stopped at the heavy iron lock, brushing across the metal in a gesture that was more benediction than casual gesture. They hesitated for several long moments, before a matching key appeared across the palm. The room seemed to hold it's breath, the silence cloying, even against the backdrop of the sounds from the street.

The hands push open the chest, revealing parcels wrapped in startlingly high quality paper. With care several parcels were withdrawn, while others were left behind. The man carried the parcels to the single chair and table on the other side of the room, running his one delicate hand over the surface of the table, checking for slivers in the worn wood. Finding the surface acceptable, he placed the parcels down before returning to lock the mysterious chest. He paused before shutting the lid, his hand hovering over a third wrapped packet. A soft buzzing filled the room, more cloying than the silence, and he drew his hand away, shaking his head before firmly closing the lid and locking the chest tight. 

Back across the room he unwrapped the first parcel, revealing pristine, finely embroidered silks. Beneath the silks were several garments made from a mix of delicate lawn and heavier linen. Each piece was brightly coloured. Rich olives, deep navies, opulent burgundies. Doffing his jacket, he hung it over the back of the chair, carefully straightening the fabric as if it was worth as much as what was on the table, despite the patches in the elbows and the threadbare spots along the wrists. Next went the vest, then, one button at a time, the shirt. That too, joined the vest and the jacket. Neat but equally worn trousers joined the rest of the outerwear, revealing a long, lean body that had been completely disguised by the cheap, boxy clothing. Finally, a long line of linen bandages were unwound from around his chest. A deep, pained breath pierced the silence as abused flesh expanded and shifted, returning to its original, and decidedly female form.

Those ink-stained fingers rubbed at the angry red marks striped across the skin, coaxing the blood back into parts that had been forced to hide for the majority of the day. The men's garb was quickly replaced by the linen and lawn, clothing just as designed towards disguising what lay beneath as the male costume had, though these garments significantly more flattering. Layered atop the wide-legged pants and neatly cut jacket-like top. Silks layered atop these, giving the illusion of layered skirts. Another set of silks caught up all that curling, dark hair, hiding most of it in an elaborate turban-like shape. Garbed in the soft, opulent fabrics, the woman now unwrapped the second parcel. Jewelry spilled across the table, no paste and tin here, but precious metals and sparkling gemstones. After that, the final piece, a long swath of silk barége, woven into a fine veil that hid the bottom half of her face. She kohled her eyes with a heavy hand, enhancing the exotic, almond shape in a way that made the amber colour somehow both brighter and darker. 

As she passed across the room again, the buzzing emerged from within the chest once more, louder. More urgent. She placed a hand on the lid, making a quiet shushing sound. "Senin zamanın gelecek." _Your time will come_. Her voice was low and lilting, the musical quality seeming to placate the harsh sound as it faded away again. She spoke again, in English this time, her accent wrapping itself around the words like an old lover. "Hush now, darlings. I hear your voices. You will not be forgotten." From beneath the bed she pulled out embroidered silk slippers and a heavy carpet bag. She placed the slippers inside the bag, and snapped it shut.

Picking up a heavy wool cloak in an uninspiring brown, she wrapped herself in the dull fabric until her entire outfit was obscured. From the street below, a driver hollers up, and she rushes down, her feet hastily shoved into the serviceable men's shoes, just barely remembering to lock the door. The carriage was whipped into action, careening through the neighbourhood as if fleeing the very devil, rather than just the wear and tear and oppressive atmosphere of poverty and neglect. Within the carriage she clutched the cloak tight around her, eyes closed as she murmured a prayer under her breath in her foreign tongue.

Arriving at the stately manor house, more a miniature castle, really, she debarked from the carriage without a word to the driver. She crossed the ornate driveway to enter through the servant's entrance, as was only proper. The housekeeper met her there, taking her to a small side room where she could leave her cloak and change her shoes. The buzzing sound grew again, staggering her for a moment with its intensity. Unable to stop herself she reached out, grabbing the plump hand of the kind older woman. Her eyes flew open, though they were glazed over, as if they had gone blind. "It wasn't your fault. He had a problem with his heart, one that the doctors would never have been able to cure. He didn't want to tell you, he was trying to protect you. You didn't give him too much laudanum, he took more himself when you left the room."

Her eyes cleared and she swayed, bracing herself against the wall as the housekeeper, eyes wide with fear backed away. The grey haired woman mumbled, her voice shaking, nothing quite making sense, and when she bobbed a curtsy and fled the room, there were tears in her eyes. The dark skinned woman took several moments to breath, to regroup. She was already exhausted, tired down to her bones. Still, she had to make a living, and Lady Isabella was a generous patron, a true believer, and not clever enough to be able to separate fact from fiction. Perhaps it was immoral, for one who could actually do what she did to fleece the wealthy elite for their pin money, but it was not like they couldn't spare it. Just one bottle of that horrendous perfume Lady Isabella doused herself in could feed the foreign woman for over a year. Zadie had urged her to take the job, and her growling stomach and threadbare clothing screamed of need.

She had been warned, however, that Isabella's parties could become rather... scandalous. She had almost been tempted to take the job in her masculine guise, but she wished to keep the two halves of her life as separate as possible. The one enabled the other, and to blend them could lead to catastrophe. Squaring her shoulders, she switched her shoes and pulled a far more elaborate bag from within the old carpetbag and went to greet her hostess.

Isabella was thrilled to see her. "Madame Karan! Welcome, welcome! I've got a little corner table all set up for you in the corner!" 

Trying to breathe through her mouth, she thickened her accent, feeding into the image, elongating the 'i' sounds into 'e' sounds in a way that made her want to roll her eyes. "Miss Isabel, thank you for choosing me to guide yourself and your guests on your spiritual journeys tonight. I am honoured." Isabella continued to prattle on in her nasally voice as the spiritualist set up the spirit board and planchette, the candles and cards, the pendulum, and, of course, the crystal ball. Not long after guests started trickling in to the party, and the odoriferous host went to make her rounds, leaving 'Madame Karan' to observe, to listen, and to mentally go over the performance for the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

The room that Isabella's party was in was... cloying. Overbearing. The stench of darkness was heavier than the liberally applied perfumes and colognes. Part of Karanlık wanted to go explore, identify the problems and attempt to placate the spirits and cleanse the vessels, but now was not the time. She was working, and she had to maintain her façade. It was difficult, though, to resist. She settled a hand against her crystal ball, feeling the pulsing of the imperfections. Cracks in the crystal that echoed the tears in the veil between the living and the dead. They were restless tonight, and that gave her a moment of concern. There was a chance that even during a charade that they could draw down something dangerous. Funny how you never accidentally summoned a helpful spirit. 

Why had Zadie suggested this dreadful place to her? The other woman was practically a null, which allowed her to exist as a cheerful phony. Maybe... did her friend really think she was as much a charlatan as she was? Well that was... reassuring? Definitely not disheartening, after all she put so much effort into maintaining the image that she was no different than any other spiritualist or fortune teller. It had worked, but now she was trapped in a venue where her happy hoaxes might become a very real danger to the guests. She scanned the crowd, easily picking out the problems. Her fingers curled into a tight ball as she resisted the urge to flee.

She read the palms of a pair of giggling young women, women she would have guessed were far too young to be attending an event such as this one threatened to be. The lines told her a common story. They would each be married within the year, one dead by childbirth within a year of that. Still, she could steer their paths, help them make better decisions, have a happier path. The girl who would have her life cut so desperately short, she whispered about the importance of True Love. Of sacrificing passion to find that lasting bond. With wonderstruck eyes, the girl seemed to absorb the words of 'Madame Karan'. It would not change her fate, but perhaps those few years wouldn't be miserable. To the second girl she advised patience. About following your heart not your family's dictation. The girl was spoiled, it was likely she would be allowed to have a bigger say than most. The two fled, like flapping birds, giggling and whispering their secrets to one another. 

Karanlık was already exhausted, and she hadn't done anything special yet. She was going to have to erect purity shield around her space soon, to keep the outside influences away from her crystals and from attaching to her own psyche. That was going to be draining, but she'd wait until the main event. Her personal shielding should be enough for now. The music changed, turning slow and mournful. The eerie, haunting tune reminded Karanlık of home, and she felt... conflicted. How dare these wealthy British peahens take the religious music of her people and turn it into some kind of macabre pantomime for their own amusement? She had to breath slowly to steady her rage. This was not the place. She slammed her shields back into place, barely noticing the shadow that bolted from her when she did so. 

Instead of following the shadow with her eyes, which Allah knew she was tempted, she instead turned to her cards, shuffling them to soothe her frazzled nerves. There is smoke in the ballroom, not all of it from the oil lanterns that lit the space. This too, Karanlık ignored, though it was getting more and more difficult. She didn't want to seem twitchy or nervous. She let her breathing strengthen her shields, pushing them out slightly so that they surrounded her table. Before the spirit board reading she would draw a proper circle, but this would do for now.

The stench of Lady Isabella's perfume preceded her arrival with some poor man in tow. As the man inspected her clothing, she did the same, admiring the neat cut of his suit. He wasn't nearly as fancy as some of the gentlemen in the room, nor did he try to peer through her layers to ogle her bosom. Curious, she reached out a thread of her power to touch him, almost breaking character as she came up against another shield. Either he was a null, like her friend Zadie, or he was gifted, and experienced using his gift. Now that was fascinating.

Unfortunately she couldn't dwell on that now, since Isabella was inches from touching things she should not. Without drawing attention to the action, she slides her hand across the table and scoops up the pendulum and the cards, her movements as deft as they were when picking pockets. Not that she did that anymore... well, unless she didn't get paid for tonight. Isabella straightened and introduced her guest with an enthusiasm that Karanlık wasn't sure she would become accustomed to. "Harlan! This is Madame Karan! She is taking Zadie's place tonight. She is quite amazing, is she not? Oh, Madame Karan, this is Mister Harlan Jackson. He is a purveyor of the occult."

"Madame Karan, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." The man introduced as Harlan gave Lady Isabella an odd look before continuing, "However, I am not a purveyor of the occult, I would call myself one interested in all things strange and supernatural. I am an investigator. I seek the truths of it all while firmly believing in its existence. I look forward to seeing what spirits you conjure tonight. It has been too long since I've been to a seance. I do hope you won't mind if I take notes?" Harlan offered her a warm smile and reached into his pocket to pull out a small card with his name and office address. He held it out to her and Karanlık took it, inspecting it curiously.

"I would love to have a chance to ask you about your abilities and perhaps what you have seen over the years. I am always looking to learn more about what lies beyond mortal eyes." Lady Isabella had already wandered off to chase after another pretty face and Karanlık felt much more comfortable now, alone with the curious man in a way that would have been frowned upon where she grew up. He chuckled ruefully. "I do apologize for her, she is... distracted easily."

She dropped the exaggerated accent, letting her own, gentler tones through. She felt that perhaps this man would not appreciate deception, though she did not entirely abandon the showmanship she was making a name for. ""Lady Isabel is a kind patron, though I admit we do not have many of the same views. What kind of investigator can be confused for a purveyor of the occult, Bayım?" Tempted beyond belief, for the first time since she arrived, she spread the cards before her, picking three that called to her and flipped them up. Unlike the standard Tarot used by many, hers had the standard suits and Arcana, but were illustrated to reflect her own preferences of the unseen.

The first card was a sphere, laced over in gold geometric patterns with wings sprouting from the sides. "The World, set on its head. Something from your past left you longing for closure, incomplete."

The second card showed six spectral figures, each brandishing a blade. "The Six of Swords, you are currently in transition. Moving towards an end goal, though you don't yet know its true nature."

She flipped the final card, displaying a single wooden cup, overflowing with water while slender, female figures seemed to swim from it. "The Ace of Cups, your intuition will be your strength. You already know everything you need to solve your problem."

She laughed, straightening her veil which had drooped when she leaned forward to inspect the cards. "You, Mister Jackson, are a fascinating creature."


	3. Chapter 3

"Fascinating you say?" Harlan grinned, dark eyes glittering with curiosity. "I do apologize for Lady Isabella's horrendous taste in music and perfume. The music would be fine if it was played properly..." He shook his head, and she did appreciate the sincerity in his voice. "Would you possibly be able to help me? I've discovered something on one of my cases and I've had a hard time placing it or understanding what it could be. I've yet to meet anyone else with a sense of truth about the occult or supernatural, I was wondering if you could look at it? I understand if you cannot now, you have a job to do here. Perhaps another time? You can come to my office and we can talk further and privately there?"

Karanlık was about to answer when the scents of skunk and rose approached the table again, this time Lady Isabella had a handsome man on her arm. He was tall and older, gray hair hidden under a hat. His suit was neatly pressed and all black, just like a hundred other men scattered around the room. Despite his innocuous appearance, there was something threatening about him. A wickedness in his eyes that makes Karanlık immediately wary of him.

"Mister Jackson, Madame Karan, meet Lord Thornwood. He's visiting from Northern England and he was hoping you could give him a reading?" Lady Isabella's whiny voice managed to drown out the sounds of the music. There was a necklace around the man's neck; an odd symbol featuring a snake wrapped around a rose. For some reason, Karanlık had trouble pulling her eyes away from that strange symbol, as if it was calling to her. She passed her left hand in front of her eyes, breaking the draw and clarifying her Sight. There, wrapped around the symbol, was something small and black, barely noticeable as anything other than part of the design as it wrapped itself around the snake. Retreating behind her protective barriers mentally, she made an apologetic hand gesture towards Harlan. She paused, her gesture having flipped a fourth card. This one displayed a worn down door, five pentacles around the lintel and dirt-stained hands reaching towards it. For a moment, it almost seemed like another image was superimposed over it. 

She lowered her voice, willing Harlan to hear her whispered voice as she made direct eye contact. "The alley behind Lambeth New Workhouse on Renfrew Road. He strikes again tonight." Then she smiled, the expression barely discernible beneath her veil as she took on her exaggerated accent once more. "I would be delighted to assist you, Mister Jackson. Perhaps sometime next week I will be able to schedule you in. I have your card, you will hear from me." Returning her attention to Lady Isabella and Lord Thornwood, Karanlık performed a surprisingly graceful half-bow from her seated position. "Ah Lady Isabel, you have brought to me another lost soul seeking direction, or simply a gentleman who wishes to test my talents? Tell me, Bayım, do you wish for me to peer into the past, the present, or the future?"

"Such tempting offers, Madame Karan. You overwhelm me." His voice slithered around her like a snake, constricting her chest in a way that made it difficult to breathe. She felt like a prey animal as her shields slammed into place. She raised delicate fingers to her arm, appearing to casually brush crumbs from her sleeve, though what she was doing was loosening the thorns of his magic from her skin and then casting them away. The man was using charms more subtle than any she had seen. Charms to attract, to seem desirable. They were clearly working on their poor hostess. You could only charm the willing or unwitting, though. He offered her his hand, but she drew further away.

"A thousand apologies, Bayım, but it is not proper in my culture for a man to touch an unmarried woman he is not related to. I know such beliefs may seem silly and backwards to such civilized persons as yourself and our gracious Lady Isabel, but they are integral to my abilities." Nothing like exaggerating religious and cultural ideals in order to avoid unpleasant interactions. She smiled beneath the veil once more, lashes lowered so that, despite how he was trying, and trying not to look like he was trying, Lord Thornwood could not catch her gaze. Instead she shuffled her cards and spread them before her, dancing her hands across the top. Unlike for Mister Jackson, she called on nothing for this reading. Letting random chance pick the cards. She would use no more of her gifts in front of the unsettling Lord if it could be avoided. In quick succession she flipped over the Six of Pentacles, reversed, the thorn-covered scales seeming to be pouring the pentacles back into the hands above it; followed by the Queen of Swords, also reversed, the sallow-complexioned warrior woman on the front leaning on her blade, which was impaled in the body of a faceless male figure; and the last was The Magician, upright, the robed figure seeming to be swathed in smoke, obscuring his features as he hovered over a table overflowing with arcane paraphernalia.

Karanlık frowned at the cards, irritated that they would choose now to send her warnings. She gestured over them, acknowledging their message as she glanced up, letting her eyes travel no further than the Lord's chin. "The cards, they say many things, Bayım. They say that you are a man used to getting what you want, a man that the world naturally concedes to, finding itself falling into the proper order in the wake of your progress. You are a man of great Will and many desires, and you have the power to bring those desires to fruition." Her gaze scanned the cards, noting one with the corner slightly bent with a small, secret smile. She flipped it over, making a small gasping sound as it was revealed. The Seven of Swords, upright. A ragged man, his body so gaunt his skeletal frame showed through, pierced through with seven blades. "The cards say your greatest danger lies within those you trust most deeply. Someone close to you, in power if not in person, plots your undoing."

She flipped the cards back over, gathering them up into a tidy pile and returning her gaze to the table, barely peering up at Lady Isabella and her guest. He could take that and shove it up his starched trousers. She felt no compunction about giving false prophecy to a man clearly intent on ill actions. If it left him mistrusting his allies, all the better. Bad men did more wrong when they had assistance. His hand came towards her and she jerked back once more, trying to temper the rage that flashed inside her, replacing it with feminine indignity. "Bayım! You must remember not to touch!"


	4. Chapter 4

Harlan lifted his cane, blocking Lord Thornwood while Karan scolded him. "I do believe the lady said she is not to be touched." Mr. Jackson offered with a stern, yet possibly friendly smile. "I know of her culture and she is right to back away from your advances. [I'd ask that you respect her and her abilities."

Lord Thornwood stepped back, his face impassive yet his eyes were unable to hide the simmering rage within them. Lord Thornwood was obviously not a man that enjoyed being told what he could and could not do. He smiled, coldly and darkly, before speaking in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Karanlık's neck stand on edge. "I apologize, Madame Karan." He oozed, while glaring at Harlan. Turning his icy gaze back to Karan, he tried to once again give her a charming smile, "Quite impressive. I've never experienced a fortune teller who knew her cards so well. I am having a private party in a month's time, would you be available to attend and put on a show there? It will be a much smaller party than this."

Thornwood drew out the ending of his final word and Karanlık was certain that she had seen the snake pendant around his neck twitch just a bit. "Smaller party?" Mr. Jackson interjected, feigning curiosity while giving the impression that he was interested in attending. "For just your... closest friends? Or will this be like Lord and Lady Ellery's private parties where they wind up inviting hundreds?"

"My closest friends." Thornwood's reply was sharp and he glared at Harlan before softening his expression again. "There is an important anniversary coming up soon. One that could use Madame Karan's talents."

"It is a shame to not invite others to such an important event." Harlan shrugged a shoulder, reaching for a glass of wine as a man carrying a tray walked by. Karanlık's eyebrow arched slightly watching the man pretend to take a sip while attempting to make eye contact with her. Lord Thornwood chose to ignore Harlan and turn his whole focus on Madame Karan. He smiled again, putting on a show of being the charming gentleman.

"You can find me at the Obsidian Obelisk. It is the old library on the East End. I spend all of my time there when I am not at home. I can only hope you would accept my offer. I can promise to pay you quite well. If you like, perhaps you can take a permanent position with us. We have been looking for someone like you. You have quite the... aura about you. It is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. You are a mysterious beauty."

"I am right here, Lord Thornwood!" Lady Isabella's high-pitched and nasally tone cut through the conversation. She pouted like a child. "I thought you said that I am a mysterious beauty!"

"There is nothing mysterious about you, dear," Lord Thornwood's gaze turned icy again as it fell onto Lady Isabella. "Everyone has seen you and knows exactly what you are offering. And many men have enjoyed the pleasures that come from your flesh." Surprisingly, there was no protest from the Lady. Instead, she shrugged and leaned further into Lord Thornwood. She seemed paler now, nearly lethargic.

Karanlık's eyes flashed above her veil, but her hands shook as she tidied the display on her table. Anger or fear, she did her best to disguise the reasoning, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself before she spoke. "Your offer is quite generous, Lord Thornwood, but I only work for female clients and in larger venues. I am sure you understand, a woman alone, so far from my family, and not always certain of the rules in a foreign land, I must be very cautious not to step outside the rules of my culture." She was grateful for the veil, because it disguised the way her lips curled into a smile when the rebuked Lord's face filled with a momentary rage.

Instead, 'Madame Karan' turned to Harlan, meeting his concerned gaze with the merest hint of a nod. "As for your request, Mister Jackson, I am afraid I must give you the same answer as I have given to Lord Thornwood. However, you are not completely out of luck. I have an associate who can stop by and look at your items. He is equally as gifted as I am, and will happily assess your artefacts." With a small bow, she stood, offering a hand to Lady Isabella. "If you gentlemen would pardon us for a few moments, I need to clear some details for the main event with our delightful host. Come with me for but a moment, Lady Isabel? I just wanted to clarify a few details."

Keeping as much distance between herself and Lord Thornwood as she was capable of, she moved around the table and tugged Lady Isabella away from the odious man. The stench of the Lady's perfume was almost overwhelming as the suddenly frail woman leaned against her. With a small pulse of power, Karanlık spread her personal shield, letting it wrap around the hostess. When it snapped into place, a thread of smoky black something recoiled back towards Lord Thornwood. The fortune teller smirked, and this time the light fell on her half-veil in a way that let the man see that she was smirking. With a sketchy half-bow, she started moving towards the side parlour.

"Mr. Jackson, if you would be so kind as to fetch myself and the Lady a cup of tea, there's a blend in my bag that she is particularly fond of, and then join us I would be obliged. I'm sure Lord Thornwood will make certain that my table is undisturbed. After all, he is clearly highly intelligent and thus can understand the possible consequences inherent to someone meddling in the magical artefacts of a practitioner whose abilities they aren't certain of." She didn't, quite, suggest that he was a practitioner of some kind of darker or more magical art, but she came dangerously close. With a whisper of power, she sealed her bag so that if anyone besides Mr. Jackson looked within they would find nothing.

The added effort brought a sheen of sweat to her brow, but she wasn't going to leave anything unattended around that horrific snake. She had been prepared for a pretty hefty expenditure of magic and abilities tonight, but the Thornwood situation was looking to be an additional strain on her resources. She should have been prepared for someone like him, but Zadie had always insinuated that the groups at Lady Isabella's parties were posers and pretenders, just looking for a little paste and glitter to add some excitement to their rather dull lives. This was getting so much darker, so much more dangerous than Karanlık had ever anticipated.

As she led Lady Isabella into the side parlour, her mind was whirling. Lord Thornwood put an element of instability in the false séance. Between her abilities, and whatever dark magic the Lord was practicing, the chances of actual contact were rising. She chewed her lip behind her veil, settling the hostess into a seat while murmuring comforting nonsense in Turkish. That Mr. Jackson seemed to have either some ability, or at the very least an awareness of the other world that was just a thin veil away from the one they existed in. If his shielding indicated abilities of his own, though, then perhaps he could bolster her wards set to ensure that no real interactions with the other side occurred this evening. 

"Lady Isabel, you look quite fatigued." Karanlık knelt beside the chair, taking Lady Isabella's pale hands between her own darker ones, rubbing them briskly to get the blood flowing again. It was the simplest and easiest way to exchange energy, and the Lady was such a null she would never even notice that there was actual, real magic taking place right in front of her. Carefully Karanlık poured some of her own strength and energy into Isabella, letting it enter through where their hands touched, sparking away whatever threads of dark magic it found. Of course, this wouldn't prevent Lord Thornwood from sinking his claws back into the foolish chit, but at least for the moment she would be able to think for herself. 'Madame Karan' kept at it until a modicum of colour returned to the Lady's cheeks, finally sitting back on her haunches, knowing her own skin would be looking fairly sallow for the next little while. That was fine, when Mr. Jackson returned with the restorative tea from her bag they would each have a cup, giving them all the energy they would need to cope with the rest of the evening.

Karanlık stood slowly, stretching out her spine before drifting closer to the fireplace, holding her fingers close to absorb the heat. She'd lost a lot from sharing energy with Lady Isabella. More importantly, the normally empty-headed Lady had given her a rather shrewd look, even if for only a moment, and it had sent an added chill right down her spine. Was it possible that someone to be so deeply deceptive that the bubbly, almost stupid persona was false? Or was it just an instinctive, animal cunning that even the most thoughtless of humanity were able to develop? She contemplated the flames, setting a small kettle of water that was kept here for her use onto it's rack in the fireplace. With any luck, Mr. Jackson would join them by the time the water had boiled.


End file.
